


Llorar

by sangreazul



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crying, Future, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Memories, Men Crying, Nostalgia, Repressed Memories, Spoilers, so many tears, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:53:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25425700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangreazul/pseuds/sangreazul
Summary: Arthur Morgan could recall exactly three times he had cried in his life and this happened to be the third one.
Kudos: 14





	Llorar

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this last year when i was in a bad place & cried over literally everything so! thought i'd do something with it lol

Arthur could recall exactly three times in his life when he cried. 

The first was a blurred image of his youth, but Dutch had held him until his sour tears had dried. He’d been frustrated, anger welling up inside him, until finally he pulled the trigger and bullet jogged his mind. His father hadn’t meant much to him, a poorly drawn figure in the shadow of life, yet the thought he was no longer around stung him. It was the sudden halt of the ocean crashing against the chalk cliffs. He should have been gone long before, long before his mother too, however life was cruel. And Arthur couldn’t describe it in any other way.

The second time, he was alone. He had sat, back slouched against the wall, knees up to his chin, and he was quiet. For a moment. Time lingered daintily in the dense air around him. Then suddenly, without his realising, tears crept down his roughed up face; they left a trail of purity, a clean slate to work on, a glistening stream of new hope. Arthur didn’t look into the hope, his hope had been diminished when she got engaged. He made no attempt of stopping the tears, most of the others were out on some job anyway, but the occasional sniff could be heard from him. His pain wasn't anger, his tears weren't bitter; the last of his innocence drained out of him that day and he watched it dry up in a puddle on the floor.

He leant close to his steed, the dusty white of her mane weaving itself between his dirtied fingers. He’d lost the road long ago, but feared leaving the almost desolate camp for too long; John, his family, they were more important than his peace of mind, his dying flicker of light. He could feel his rotten lungs struggle to move against his ribcage. The fight was lost - for everyone - but John needed a chance, a forfeit. A solitary tear escaped his bloodshot eyes. Arthur didn’t see where it landed, somewhere along the misty trail he was leaving in his wake. There was nothing this world could offer him anymore, he had taken all his fortune, chances, and stood, dumbfounded, as someone with his head and hands poured them into the endless ocean. He had a thick layer of blood upon his palm, forbidding anyone from seeing the soft skin underneath, but John’s hand.. the drying stain was somehow limpid. He could let the hours of time slowly wash over like waves and drag the deep crimson into the abyss on its retreat. The third time pierced what was left of his aching heart, seized it, and ripped it out of his chest. 

He was suddenly helpless again.


End file.
